


Nostalgia

by Shapeshifter99



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Gen, Jack the Ripper DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5817592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shapeshifter99/pseuds/Shapeshifter99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evie hated being back in London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nostalgia

Evie hated being back in London.

 

No, that wasn’t true. She just hated being in a London that looked like this. Everywhere she turned, there was another reason for her to simply pack her bags and return home, to Henry. Violence, abuse, fear, poverty... the Rooks. They were everywhere, roaches scuttling around in the dank Whitechapel streets. Every time she saw a flash of green, a bottled scream would rise up in her throat, rage burning on her tongue.

 

 _How could you turn your back on this city?_ She wanted to shout. _How could you betray Jacob like this?_

 

But instead, she slunk in the shadows, her breath baited and her eyes glittering beneath her cowl. They would get their comeuppance eventually. In the meantime, she had to lie low.

 

It made her despair to see the wonderful city she and her brother had wrenched from Templar hands in the mud, splattered and filthy with the Ripper’s murders. Her eyes would wander, focusing on the shivering prostitutes that hung around the pubs she and Jacob used to frequent, the nasty brutes that patrolled the paths they had raced along.

 

But every once in a while, something would make her pause. The ale factory tower that Evie and Jacob had met Henry on. A pub that made her recall one of Mr. Dickens’ ghost hunts. The oh-so-familiar train tracks that had been their home.

 

Those moments were the most dangerous. The ones that made her waver, that caused the beginnings of tears to prick her eyes. The ones that made her want to wish the past twenty years away.

 

She couldn’t lose her brother. Not now, not after all they’d been through. Not before they had a chance to say hello in person again.

 

It shamed her, because when she’d been on the boat to England, she’d realized with a horrifying lurch that she had no idea what her twin looked like anymore. She had pictures, worn over the years, but no present image of his insufferable smirk or the twitch of his eyebrows when she ticked him off. She’d leaned over and buried her head in her hands, uncaring of the curious looks she got.

 

She had to find him.

 

But it was his home that was by far the worst. She hadn’t even known that he had lost the train, hadn’t known that he’d decided to hole himself up in Whitechapel of all places. It was soaked in blood, frighteningly bare and cold. It bore the traces of her brother, but only just. The clothes thrown carelessly onto the rack. The statue of Kali she’d given to him when he’d come to India with his protégés. A picture or two. A piece of metal that she was convinced was from the train.

 

And lastly... her letters.

 

They were in a box, under the floor boards. She would have missed it completely if she hadn’t been an assassin, and more importantly, his twin sister. Within moments she had pried up the boards and lifted out the wooden container. She rifled through the letters, surprised that they weren’t covered in dust, only to realize that Jacob must have looked at them often. It made her heart clench.

 

There were some that dated back to when she’d first left London with Henry, and when she peered in the gap in the floorboards again, she spotted more stacks of letters, bound together in string.

 

Her hands trembled just slightly as she opened one. It was dated from early in the year, in January.

 

 _Dear Jacob,_ it read. _I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wanted to know how you and your initiates are doing._

 

The rest of the letter was filled with meaningless prattle, until the end. Evie could remember writing this letter. A sudden doubt had seized her just as she was finishing it off, and she’d hurriedly added a last bit before sealing it.

 

_It’s been so long since I’ve heard from you. Please reply soon. Henry sends his love, and so do I. Regards, Evie._

 

She’d wanted very badly to say that she missed him, but had decided it would have been too silly and childish. She regretted it deeply.

 

Another letter, from a few months before that. Evie had asked if he’d considered coming to visit her in India again, since she’d been under the impression that London was still safe and clean. His reply had been too short, and succinct.

 

_I can’t. Leaving is too risky._

 

She’d been miffed by his reply, but now she understood everything. His reluctance hadn’t been because he was too lazy to make the journey to see her, it had been because he was chasing a threat no one could yet see. He must have been at the edge of his wits for months now, working carefully behind the scenes while his Rooks and his city were taken from him. And she hadn’t been there to help. Evie felt ill and anxious, her stomach tightening as her mind processed how many times she could have offered at the very least encouragement. He hadn’t said anything directly, but she should have _known_. She was his twin, for God’s sake!

 

Her hands threatened to clench the letter and crumple it, so she refolded it and placed it gently with the others. She put everything back in its hiding place and took a deep breath, the air whistling gently in the painful silence.

 

 _When I see him again, I’ll tell him everything I should have,_ she vowed to herself silently. _We will get London back._

 

Nothing could ever be the same as it once was, she knew that. But that didn’t mean everything had to be left behind.


End file.
